


Poetry In Motion

by prfctdaze



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst, Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M, Rated for future chapters, Smut, Violence, along with Simon - Raphael - Alec's POVs, except Magnus/Alaric because Magnus has a POV in the fic, side meaning just observed by others, side pairings Magnus/Alaric - Izzy/Maureen - Clary/Jace, you know the usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-27 08:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12577968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prfctdaze/pseuds/prfctdaze
Summary: An encounter at Java Jones between Simon and Raphael leaves Simon shaken and scared. A world he didn't know existed is soon revealed to him.





	1. JAVA JONES

**Author's Note:**

> This story was created from a prompt (below) written by J in a comment to me. Although I'm taking liberties with it and expanding the idea, the prompt has been my inspiration. It's been on the backburner for a long while but I am finally finding my voice for this fic.
> 
>  
> 
> _Raphael goes to Java Jones one night (Java Jones the building not Java Jones the food truck) to enjoy some coffee and poetry since it's poetry night there. Simon is also there to be supportive to his friend Eric because Eric thinks he's a great poet but in reality he sucks at poetry. So Eric and Matt are on stage, Eric doing his poetry and Matt is playing the djembes as he does so (this is what they did in the books) and Raphael mutters on how badly Eric sucks at poetry. Simon hears him and even though he knows his friend isn't very good he still sticks up for him like a good friend and tells Raphael off. They argue until Simon say "Like you can do any better?" And Raphael says he could do better and goes on stage and does an amazing poem. Simon is impressed and complements him and Raphael is his smug self and I guess they eventually exchange numbers or some things happens after that. Don't know._

It was times like these when Simon wished his eyeglasses represented the only barrier between an inner nerdy Clark Kent and an elusive, confident-with-nerves-of-steel Man of Steel.

Frustration settled in as he stared into the mirror. No matter how much he turned just a smidge to the left and then to the right, he couldn't escape the scrutinous eye of the glass. 

He felt like he was going to come out of his skin. It's not like he was getting ready for a date or anything. Anxious and worried he was making a huge mistake - and wondering if Eric, Matt, and Kirk would ever forgive him - Simon took a deep breath and said to his reflection, "Hey, guys, this is Maureen. She's a really good keyboardist and songwriter and we've been secretlywritingtogetherandIhavetobreakupwithyouI'msosorry - FUCK!!!"

"Smooth, Lewis," he mumbled. With a vehement shake of his head, Simon gave up, grabbed his wallet and keys, and ran out the door.

Poetry night at Java Jones meant the place wasn't too crowded. Nearly empty, in fact. Although to be fair, Simon arrived rather early in his haste to get away from the mirror. Poetry gatherings did have their fair share of partakers, contrary to popular belief.

The bar ran alongside a dark brick wall and housed every sort of syrupy concoction and coffee machine imaginable. Tables and booths and little nooks for book reading clubs lent a welcoming feel to the coffeehouse. Simon could easily recite the artsy chalkboard menu from start to finish with his eyes closed. He smiled at J, the barista, and she said, "Hey, Simon. The usual?"

Simon decided to go against protocol by ordering a Vietnamese iced coffee. It was much sweeter than what he was used to, but he was in the mood for change. Baby steps, right?

The small round table near the front was unsurprisingly open and Simon plopped down in a chair and placed his second iced coffee on a coaster shaped like a coffee bean. His leg slightly shook - nerves or caffeine, probably a bit of both - and he sipped quietly as Java Jones began to slowly come to life.

"Hey."

The soft voice instantly brought him out of his thoughts and he looked up. "Hey, Clary. What are you doing here?"

"Well, I heard this super talented poet dude was going to be putting on a show. And I just couldn't resist."

Simon's eyebrows rose.

"And Eric promised me if I showed up that he'd help haul my paints to the women's shelter graffiti benefit this weekend. Plus I knew you'd be here, of course," she added with a laugh. "What are you drinking?" She leaned over and took a sip from the green and white striped straw. "Mmm...that's good. But...sweet."

"Maureen's coming tonight."

"She is?" Clary's eyes lit up and she punched Simon in the arm.

"Ow."

"Are you telling the guys tonight?" Clary asked as she took a seat next to him.

"That was the plan but I kinda feel sick to my stomach now. Maybe it's the coffee. I don't know. Maybe it's not a good idea -"

"Simon, it's a good idea. You two are awesome together. I've heard you. And as nice as Eric and Matt and Kirk are, you're just not going anywhere with them. Musically speaking. I'm sure they'll understand."

The guys had been Simon's friends since even before Clary. They were the brothers he never had, although Simon felt closer to Eric than the other two. When they'd started fooling around in Eric's garage on hand-me-down instruments, it was all fun and games and something to do in-between Dungeons and Dragons. 

Yet somehow things had turned more serious for Simon. There was a kinship and - for lack of a better word - _need_ that came over him when he created music. Eric considered himself somewhat of bard and he tried really hard to hone his writing skills. But Eric sucked and everyone knew it. It wasn't long before Simon began to take the reins as far as lyrics were concerned. 

He met Maureen completely by accident; she was a friend of Eric's cousin. The connection was instant. Not sexual, although Maureen was very pretty. Besides, Simon had a habit of falling for girls who always put him in the friend zone. A common love of writing songs brought Simon and Maureen together. They were good.

It reminded Simon of someone cheating on a lover. Every time he was with Maureen he felt guilty for sneaking around on the band. But most times the guys didn't want to practice or had other plans or something else got in the way. 

Simon had to make a decision. So he did. Now he just had to tell them.

"Siiimon!!!" Eric slapped him on the back and shook his shoulders. "What up?"

"Hey, what's going on?" Simon's energy level was microscopic compared to Eric's.

"Oh, you know," he ran his fingers through his bangs, "getting ready for the big show. Matt's gonna play the djembes for me. You're more than welcome to join. Maybe add a little background humming or something."

"Uh, I'll pass. Thanks."

"Hi, Clary."

"Hey, Eric. We're still on for Saturday, right?"

His jaw dropped. "What?"

"The benefit? The paint? Remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure. I'll be there."

Thirty-five minutes later Simon's leg was bouncing up and down, hard enough for the table to start rocking.

"Simon, maybe you need to lay off the coffee? Or switch to decaf?"

He immediately stilled his leg. "Sorry."

"Hey." 

Clary reached for his hand across the table and squeezed. The warmth of her skin gave Simon a sense of calm. He looked at her sparkling eyes, pale face, and vibrant hair. She'd been the star of many dreams throughout Simon's life. Her smile was like breathing air. Nice, safe, non-sexual air. She just didn't see Simon like that. He'd learned to accept it over the years. Or at least tolerate it so it didn't gnaw at him. Not much, anyway.

"Simon, it's going to be alright. You'll still see them. You'll still be friends. You just have to go your separate ways as far as the band goes. Music is important to you. And it's really not all that important to the rest of the guys. They're more about getting laid."

"Heh, yeah, I'm certainly not about that," Simon muttered under his breath.

It had been a while. At least with another actual human being. Ten months to be exact, but who's counting?

"What's that?"

"Nothing. You're right. You're right, Clary. I have to follow my dreams. And Maureen and I have similar goals."

"Perfect!" Clary kissed his cheek. "Okay, I gotta go." 

"What? It's not even started yet -"

"I told Eric I'd show up. And I did. Didn't say anything about having to suffer through his show."

"Nice."

"No, actually I do have something important to do or I'd stick around. Luke is going shopping with me to pick out a birthday gift for my mom. His schedule at the station is so weird and tonight's the only night he has free."

"Well, alright, I guess that's a good excuse. Maybe I could use that excuse, too. I still need to get your mom's present. Let's go -"

"Simon!" she said in her stern voice.

"Kidding. I'll see you later."

He watched Clary as she walked away, her tight jeans doing flip-floppy things to his insides. Once she exited the building, Simon looked around the coffeehouse. More people filled the room to near capacity. It was odd but maybe some folks were taking advantage of Java Jones's special sale on lattes. His skin tingled as he felt a strange sensation of being watched. Slowly, Simon moved his head and caught a profile of someone in his peripheral vision, sitting by himself in one of the booths on the left side. Dark hair, a strong jawline, a suit sharp enough to hurt someone. 

Damn.

It almost pained Simon to tip his head in the stranger's direction. He didn't want to be obvious but he needed to get a better view.

But then the lights went down and there was shuffling and scraping across the little stage area. The emcee announced Eric's name and then slight microphone feedback was followed by the thump thump thump of Matt's drum.

_"INJURY!_  
_SUFFERING!_  
_You wound me,_  
_Digging at a scar_  
_Near my scrotum."_

Simon cringed. Another voice sounded out from the audience, "Oh, dear God. Poets everywhere are rolling over in their graves."

It instantly filled Simon with anger. It wasn't like loud heckling, but it was certainly discernible. Sure, Eric wasn't all that good. But he was an artist, getting up there and putting himself out on the line. Taking a risk. Unlike some asshole in a dark room hurling insults.

_"I hate your smile._  
_FAKE!_  
_That's what you are._  
_Fake."_

"Seriously. What _is_ this vomit?"

Heat climbed up Simon's neck. He was certain his skin was bright pink from boiling blood pressure. Creative freedom was nothing to be taken lightly. How dare this jerk mouth off about someone's right to create poetry? It was subjective, anyway. There were probably loads of people in the audience who appreciated and admired Eric's knack for painting with words.

_"You take me for a fool?_  
_You're fake! You're fake!_  
_I lift the dagger_  
_Out of the scar._  
_My loins will not suffer_  
_The FATE of your_  
_FAKENESS!"_

Thump thump THUMP!...

The room was once again bathed in light while a smattering of hand claps sounded, Simon's clapping being the loudest. He even whistled for good measure.

"That is the worst thing I ever heard. Vile."

Rage enveloped Simon. He stood up and stomped across the floor, stopping in front of the booth occupied by the rude jackass.

Sure, his anger probably had something to do with Simon feeling guilty about his plan to dump the band members' asses later that night. But the protectiveness Simon felt toward Eric seeped through his own judgment of lacking talent and leapt up like a mama tiger defending her cub.

"You got some nerve, buddy! Why don't you just keep your mouth shut? If you don't like it, then leave."

On the inside, Simon was shaking uncontrollably. But once he saw the idiot move forward into the full light, Simon began to shake on the outside.

"I'm just expressing an opinion. What is your problem? Opinions aren't allowed around here?"

The man was gorgeous. Like totally, amazingly beautiful. Intense eyes and dark hair, smooth skin and supple lips. There was a glow about him. Almost unnatural. But stunning.

Too bad he was a total asshat.

"Yeah...like...like you could do any better." Simon gulped.

"Oh, I can do better."

The man started to make his way toward the stage. 

"It's not open mike night! Jerk!" Simon shouted after him.

But regardless of it not being open mike night, the man continued his path forward. He leaned into the emcee, stroking her cheek and whispering in her ear while the girl visibly trembled. She reached out for him as he stepped away to the center of the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she breathed in a high-pitched voice, "we have an unexpected special performance tonight. Please welcome...Raphael Santiago!"

Her reaction to her own words was like announcing the arrival of a rock god.

"Please," Simon scoffed.

"What'd you think?" Eric suddenly came out of nowhere and put his arm around Simon's neck.

"Uh...yeah. Nice. Nice job."

"We're talking about getting some drinks at Pandemonium."

"We're underage."

Matt shoved plastic cards under Simon's nose. "Fake I.D.'s, my man! New ones! I think they'll work this time. Let's go! Kirk's gonna meet us there."

"Yeah, okay. Wait - no. Maureen's coming."

"Who?" Matt asked.

"Maureen? Maureen Brown? You getting a little something on the side, Lewis?" Eric chuckled.

"What? No -"

_"I miss you._  
_The heat of your touch on my skin._  
_The way you wrap around my body._  
_Comforting my soul_  
_Now so black with despair._  
_So brief a time we had together._  
_Not even memories can keep me warm now._  
_So cold. So dark. So alone."_

"Simon? Are you listening to me?"

_"I ache for you._  
_In the blackest of nights_  
_Your stroke of light caresses me with promise,_  
_Purifying the crimson river of my broken heart._  
_Someday I will return to your arms._  
_The day an angel cries tears of blood_  
_And I will become dust forevermore._  
_The bonds of my affliction finally severed._

"Gracias."

A hush fell over the coffeehouse. The man - Raphael - walked off the stage and a rousing round of applause rarely heard on poetry night suddenly erupted. Although Simon couldn't bring himself to clap, he watched as Raphael headed straight for him.

"What did you think?" The voice was low, sultry, oozing sexuality that Simon never really knew he was missing in his life.

"It was okay." Simon shrugged, feigning disinterest yet dying to know more.

"You coming, Simon?" Matt asked.

"I'll meet up with you guys later."

"Just okay?" Raphael sat back down and lifted his arm up to the back of the booth. He tapped his fingernails on the fake leather. "Well, I suppose I'm a little rusty. Sit down, _Simon_."

The nails were...long. For a brief moment it freaked Simon out. But then the smallest smile from Raphael seemed to reassure him it was all perfectly normal.

And that freaked Simon out even more. 

"Uh...No, I can't. I gotta go."

The Flash would've been impressed by how fast Simon bolted for the door. Once outside, he quickly texted Maureen that there'd been a change of plans. He'd meet her at Pandemonium instead.

Heart racing and pulse pounding loudly, Simon hailed a taxi and fell into the backseat. For some strange reason he felt like the world had just shifted; like things weren't ever going to be the same again.

It scared the hell out of him.


	2. PANDEMONIUM

The music was loud, the lights were spinning, and the drinks were flowing. Grinding and writhing bodies of dancers filled the main area; a thick haze and techno beat saturated the air until it felt almost corporeal.

Simon nursed a vodka martini, constantly looking down to check the door for Maureen's arrival. He felt unsettled and especially vulnerable, although he wasn't sure _why_ he felt vulnerable.

They sat at a booth on the mezzanine level, shouting to hear each other over the thumping bass. It was a treat to go to a club. Being under the legal age to drink made it more difficult to get into the high-quality clubs. And Pandemonium had a reputation for being the best. Score one for Matt finally getting them _good_ fake I.D. cards.

Under normal circumstances Simon would've been out there on the dance floor, jumping around like a lunatic, throwing back a few drinks, trying to get someone's phone number, and swearing to the gods tomorrow morning that he'd never drink again. But an overwhelming sense of dread choked any sort of good mood out of his psyche.

"There she is!" Simon yelled and gestured below.

Maureen slowly weaved her way through the crowd on the ground floor, finding a spot and then stopping to check her phone. Her curly hair was pulled to the side and she wore a red crop top and short floral skirt. Simon was mesmerized by the flash of light brown skin on her well-toned stomach until his phone buzzed.

_Where are you_

_I c u. BRT_

"Hi!" Maureen said about twelve seconds later.

"Hey! You look...great!"

"Thanks! I was trying to look older so they wouldn't card me. I've never been here before and I wasn't sure what to wear. I think...probably...this shouldn't have been the choice," Maureen laughed. 

"No, no. That's perfect. Uh, we got a table upstairs." Simon pointed up at Eric who was waving like a mad man.

"Great," she said and smiled.

"You wanna head up and I'll get some drinks?"

"What?"

"Upstairs?" Simon pointed again. "What do you want to drink?" Simon asked, leaning into Maureen's ear.

"Oh, uh, whatever you're having."

"Okay. I'll be up in a minute."

She nodded her head and began to ascend the open staircase, walking slowly in her red heels. This time Simon was entranced by her legs.

Goddammit. Focus.

Simon had to physically push his way through the mob of crazed dancers to get to the closest bar. On the way to his destination he stopped to stare at what looked to be a human pyramid on a large leather sofa. Bodies draped over and around, half-dressed and probably more than half-drunk. They were all quite attractive, particularly the obvious kingpin, who suddenly shifted positions to straddle someone's lap, shiny gold short shorts hugging his ass tightly and leaving little to the imagination.

The man who was enjoying the impromptu lap dance seemed vaguely familiar. Thick dark hair, wild curls, a full beard and moustache. He pushed his hips up and the kingpin bucked forward into the motion, running his painted fingernails through the man's hair. How all those rings didn't get caught in the thick curls, Simon would never know.

"Enjoying the show?"

The low voice in his ear caused Simon to jump. And possibly squeal.

"Oh, my God! What the hell?"

Simon whirled around to find Raphael smiling at him. It was a sexy smile. But sinister. A sexy, sinister smile. 

"What are you - What are you doing here?" Simon stepped to the left and leaned his hand on a column to steady himself.

"I come here all the time. What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm here with my friends. We have fake I.D.'s - Shit! I mean..."

"Not to worry, Simon. I'm not a cop looking to arrest you for anything. Mi casa es su casa."

"You live here?"

Raphael licked his lips. "It's just an expression. So where are your friends?"

"What?"

"Where are your friends?" Raphael shouted.

"Upstairs. I'm getting drinks for them. Well, uh, I gotta go. Have a nice life. Goodbye."

Simon turned and headed in the direction of the bar. He nodded to the bartender and ordered two vodka martinis, taking a sip of one while reaching in his wallet for cash. The bubble wall display behind the bar spun fluorescent blue and splashes of bright orange resembling hot liquid silk, swirling and captivating him like an exotic drug. He blinked once then twice. His head felt light and the music began to sound muffled.

"I'll have a bloody mary, original recipe," Raphael said to the bartender. 

Almost in slow motion, Simon turned in his direction and saw a disturbing grin on Raphael's face. His vision swirled for just a moment; he could've sworn Raphael had fangs. 

"Jesus!"

"You alright, Simon?" Raphael whispered in his ear.

He blinked and supposed it had been a trick of the light, although Simon still felt unsettled and shaky. "No, I don't think so. I need to go upstairs."

"Leaving so soon? We were just getting to know each other."

The red liquid swirled in the glass he placed down on the bar, capturing Simon's fascination. It seemed that Simon couldn't focus on a damn thing tonight. Everything distracted him and kept throwing him off. Including Raphael's perfectly well-groomed, _normal_ fingernails.

Without thinking it through carefully, he reached for Raphael's hand and lifted it up to fully inspect his fingers. His skin was warm, almost unusually so, and his hands were soft and pliable. He traced a vein but immediately stopped in embarrassment when he heard Raphael utter a small moan.

"Shit! I'm sorry." Simon dropped his hand like it burned his flesh. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I gotta go."

"Why don't you let me help you with that?" Raphael said after downing his drink in one large gulp.

Reluctantly Simon relinquished his hold on the glasses. He really wasn't sure how he would've managed to navigate the journey back upstairs, anyway. His head felt woozy, almost like he was already drunk, and he'd only had the equivalent of about one drink.

"You coming? Just follow me. Hold on to my jacket."

The material was nice. Expensive. So what if Simon looked like a three year old holding on to his mother's coattails through the grocery store? He could get used to this. Trailing the footsteps of a gorgeous stranger who seemed to turn up everywhere Simon was.

"So gorgeous," Simon whispered.

Raphael spun around gracefully, not spilling one drop of the drinks in his hands. "Thank you."

"Huh?"

He smiled and turned his back to Simon, the momentum for the train to the mezzanine level shifting forward once again. Simon shook his head in confusion but kept his hand tightly gripped on Raphael's jacket.

Once upstairs Simon sank into a sofa adjacent to the booth. He watched Raphael place the drinks down on the table. 

"Is this mine? Thanks!" Kirk smiled and downed Simon's drink in one long swallow.

"That's...mine," Simon muttered.

"Then I guess this one's mine," Maureen grinned and took a sip. "Mmm...good."

"Yeah?" Simon said.

"No," she said with a wrinkled up nose.

The room still spun but not nearly as intensely as before. Simon stood up and moved to the booth, scooting in beside Maureen. "Hey, guys, I need to talk to you. Uh, do you mind?" Simon looked over at Raphael, clearly indicating he wanted privacy.

"Oh, of course," Raphael nodded and moved three tables away.

"So, I'm just going say it. I'm leaving the band. I've loved working with you guys all these years but it's time for me to move on. Maureen and I are going to start our own band."

"What? That's crazy, Simon! You're part of us. You... _are_ us. Who's gonna play bass? More importantly, who's gonna write the songs?" Eric asked in a near panic.

"Well, you, of course, dumbass!" Matt yelled. "You're a poet, aren't you? You can write some damn songs!"

"Eric can't write songs," Kirk slurred. "He fucking sucks. I gotta take a piss." 

Kirk stood to his feet - or rather attempted to stand to his feet - and immediately collapsed, hitting his face hard enough on the edge of the table to draw blood.

Before Kirk's head hit the floor, Simon sprang to his feet and reached for him, softening his landing. "Kirk! Kirk!" Simon lightly tapped his face, left cheek then the right. "Kirk! Fuck!!"

"Jesus Christ, how much did he drink?" Matt asked.

"Oh, my God!" Maureen exclaimed. "Should we call someone?"

A small circle of curious onlookers began to form just outside the seating area where Kirk lay unconscious. Simon nearly tackled a girl who got her phone out to take a photograph. "Could somebody use their phone to call 9-1-1 instead of taking a fucking photo?!?"

At least she had the good sense to look contrite.

"Out of the way." Raphael cleared a path and picked Kirk up like he was a feather, gently placing him on the sofa. "We need some paper towels or cloths or -"

He stopped and looked down at the blood on his hand. Simon eyed him curiously, wondering if the sight of blood made Raphael sick. Simon knew it was a pretty common thing. Not everyone could be a doctor or paramedic. Truth be told, Simon wasn't all that keen to see blood either. At least real blood. Fantasy blood was another story. Kill or be killed was his motto when it came to games or movies.

"Here's some napkins," Maureen offered.

Simon took the napkins and handed them to Raphael. "What do we do?"

"Just put some pressure on the wound."

His demeanor reflected irritation or something else. Fear? That didn't seem right. Simon couldn't put a name to it. But one thing was certain, Raphael was hell-bent on getting out of there.

The commotion had caused a big enough ruckus that someone assumed there'd been a fight and the police arrived at the same time as the paramedics. They took Kirk away in an ambulance. He looked so frail lying on the stretcher, still unconscious. Simon felt sick after he got off the phone with Kirk's mother to explain the situation. And even sicker when the cops refused to let the rest of them leave.

Names and questions ensued, resulting in the discovery of false identification and contributing to the delinquency of minors.

"Is there anything you can do, Alaric? I'd rather not have the N.Y.P.D. nosing around in my business."

Suddenly Simon realized why the lap dance recipient seemed familiar.

"Alaric? You work with Luke, right?"

"Uh, yeah. Who are you?"

Simon smiled in relief. "I'm Simon. Clary's friend. You know, Jocelyn's daughter?"

The man dressed in the dark red velvet jacket, silky shirt unbuttoned nearly to his navel, and tight gold shorts stepped forward and stared at Simon. Simon couldn't meet his eyes so instead he focused on the plethora of necklaces hanging down the man's chest. 

After a few seconds of uncomfortable staring, Simon looked up and glared at him. "Is there a problem?"

"Who _are_ you?"

"Who are _you_?" Simon countered with a sneer.

"My name is Magnus Bane. I own this club. I believe you're trespassing."

"Mr. Bane, we need to ask you a few questions since you're the proprietor of Pandemonium. Please step over here," a uniformed officer said.

Emotions suddenly got the best of Simon and he sat down in the nearest chair, placing his face in his hands as events came crashing down all around him. The scene of Kirk collapsing kept replaying over and over in his mind; his face hitting the table, blood splattering, the crunch of bone and cartilage. Eric and Matt sat huddled in a corner and looked just as numb.

"Fuck," he whispered.

But Kirk was where he needed to be. Simon had to trust that he'd be okay. 

The one thing he could be grateful for was at least the cops wouldn't call his mom. Even though he wasn't old enough to legally drink alcohol, he was an adult in the eyes of the law so there would no phone calls to inform her of Simon's illegal extracurricular activities. He hoped for a quick slap on the wrist and not an escort to the police station. What his mom didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

"I can't believe this is happening," Maureen said as she sat next to Simon. "Kirk didn't look so good."

"He'll be okay." Simon reached for her hand and squeezed. "It'll be okay." Hopefully his words comforted Maureen. They certainly weren't much comfort for himself. 

"Simon, come over here," Alaric said, motioning with his hand.

Simon jumped to his feet and walked over to the detective. "Yeah?"

"I called Luke. He's off duty tonight but he's going to swing by to make sure you're okay. We'll get this sorted out with as little trouble as possible."

"Oh, God! Thank you so much!"

A sense of relief overcame Simon. He gazed over the scene in the club. House lights had been turned on and a few officers scurried about interviewing people. Most of Pandemonium was already cleared out. Only the underage faction and a few employees seemed to remain.

Across the room his eyes met Raphael's. "Raphael!" He began to stand up but Raphael put his finger over his lips and shook his head.

Just as Raphael seemed ready to retire once again to the shadows, Alaric spotted him. "Raphael, I want to talk to you."

Raphael sneered dismissively, turned his back, and walked away. The detective's jaw tightened but he didn't say another word; he just had a silent conversation with Magnus through eye contact. Simon wondered how Raphael got away with ignoring an officer of the law. 

A few minutes later Simon found his arms full of a worried Clary, fussing over him like he was her long lost child.

"Are you okay? How is Kirk?"

"We don't know. I want to go to the hospital but they won't let us leave yet."

"Maureen, are you alright?" Clary continued her mother hen ways.

"I'm fine."

Luke stepped in front of Simon with a pointed look and then a relieved half-smile. He placed his hand on Simon's shoulder and squeezed. Simon winced - not because it actually hurt - but he was embarrassed for Luke to witness the situation.

He'd known Luke for years and looked up to him, Luke's tall height notwithstanding. Over time Luke had taken on the role of father figure. Simon admired his strength and honesty, his loyalty and the way he cared for Jocelyn and Clary. The definition of "good man" was Luke Garroway. And Simon didn't want to disappoint him.

"I'm sorry for all this, Luke."

"Hey, I get it. You're young and...wild. Sort of. Not really," Luke chuckled. "Look, we'll get this figured out and you'll be out of here in no time, alright? Don't worry."

"I am worried about Kirk. I want to see him -"

"And you will. We'll get this done and I'll drive you to the hospital myself. Okay?"

Simon nodded and Luke leaned in for a quick sideways hug before gesturing to Alaric and heading in his direction.

The events of the night began to take their toll. Simon saw it on Maureen's face, too. He bypassed Clary and walked toward Maureen. "We're getting out of here soon. Luke will take care of it." 

Maureen nodded her head. "Good. I want to go home. What's wrong with Clary?"

"Huh?"

He turned and saw Clary in the middle of the floor, frozen to her spot and staring at Magnus like she'd just seen a ghost. "Do I know you?"

She seemed a bit wobbly on her feet and Simon promptly stepped over to reach out and steady her. 

"Have you been to Pandemonium before?" Magnus asked.

"No."

His eyes swiftly moved up and down Clary from head to toe. "Then no. You don't know me," he said and walked away.

"You okay?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, yeah. I guess. It's weird. That guy seems familiar."

"Well, you know, that's understandable. I'm sure you meet lots of guys in red velvet and gold shorts with their asses practically hanging out."

She lightly hit Simon's arm. "Shut up."

He laughed and sidestepped another playful punch. His landing position afforded him a viewpoint of Magnus and Raphael standing side-by-side near one of the back bars, conversing in what appeared to be a serious discussion. 

Suddenly they looked up and met Simon's eyes, their intense stares sending a chill down his spine. He turned and immediately ran into Luke's hard chest.

"Ow," he grimaced.

Luke smiled. "It's time to go now. You ready?"

Simon was more than ready to get the hell out of that place. One last glance at the back bar revealed the two men had vacated the premises. He wondered what they'd been talking about.

And then he wondered why he even cared.


End file.
